published by Dark Horses: The Magazine of Weird Fiction
You know the saying ‘sink your teeth into’ something? Well, I take that literally. Not in an ‘I eat people’ sort of way. I mean it is, but… let me explain.
Since I was an infant, I could be found putting everything and anything in my mouth – from slater bugs to toy cars and electronic devices. Anything I could get my chubby hands on went into my mouth. My favourite thing, though, was my parents' fingers. Like how parents stick their fingers in your mouth to feed you or put your dummy in. I hear you say that’s normal for a child; but not when that child doesn’t grow out of it and starts craving it.
I remember being nine years old and attending a birthday party for a girl in my class called Jasmine. Eleven girls gathered at her house for a sleepover and a pool party the next day. I had never attended a sleepover before and the thought of being around that many people in close proximity for an extended period sent panic through my body. We played all the typical childhood games – hide and seek, dressing up, tea parties and playing with dolls; frivolous activities that almost bored me to death. Although I was delighted by the interaction and to be included in such a formative experience, I wasn’t feeling any sense of joy or contentment.
But then, we started playing Twister.
Twister unfolded like a smorgasbord of new possibilities to explore and inspect. Each time the colour wheel spun and I moved closer to another player, I’d feel my body tremble and my vision go blurry from unadulterated hunger. It took all my will to keep from nibbling on someone. The game only lasted about 20 minutes before we all gave up – but it seems like hours when you’re desperate to understand the squealing girls just inches from your teeth.
By the end of the game, I lost all restraint. It was the first time I bit off a whole chunk of someone, and it felt like my brain went into slow motion and projected my future all at once. It was a euphoric experience, and I finally understood myself and why I had been living in such disarray. The girls and parents all screamed bloody murder. My parents were called to take me home, and those girls never spoke to me again. But I didn’t need friendship, or to be understood. I stepped onto a different path, leading me towards an elevated comprehension of life and the world that no one else has.
Now, it’s not what you think. I don’t murder people to eat, I don’t even need a human snack a day. I’m not a cannibal, I’m not barbaric. That shit’s not my thing. I’m particularly sensitive about the word cannibal because it’s not who I am. I just need to explore the world – and people – by having a taste. That instinct you have from infancy to put things in your mouth to inspect them just never left my body. I mean, the decadent flavour of human is a bonus… I’m thankful it doesn’t make me gag like beef does.
Food has never been a priority for me. I know I have to eat for my body to thrive and survive, but I’m not one of those people who enjoys going out and trying different cuisines. I live in Melbourne, and if you’ve heard of it, you’d know it’s essentially the foodie capital of Australia. People flock to cafes and restaurants in droves after work and on weekends to relish in the experimental hot spots that pop up constantly. Because going out to eat is the main social activity here, I tend to miss out on a lot of normal human interaction; socialisation, conversation, connection. The people in my life know not to bother inviting me to eat out. Brunch? For fun? Fuck that.
Since my twenties are on their way out, I thought it was time to begin looking for a romantic partner. I’d been feeling all the societal pressure of finding someone to share my life with, and I’ll begrudgingly admit that I had been lonely. I’d attempted to find a partner before, but trying to navigate my curiosity in the dating world is not something I’d recommend. Most people can figure out whether a person is right for them within the first few dates, but for me, I can’t exactly go around taking bites of people straight away. By the time I can, I’m already in too deep.
I met this guy at one of the many courses that I attend at the UniMelb. I try to consume knowledge in any way that I can – that doesn’t involve ingesting body parts – to occupy my brain and curb my craving for connection. I already have a BA in Psychology, which taught me the intricacies of the human mind and emotion, and gave me a little more understanding as to why I might be the way I am. But there is always more to learn.
During my Uni course, I learnt about Hyperphagia. Hyperphagia is a condition in which people are controlled by insatiable hunger, where they never feel satisfied with how much they eat. This incurable starvation made sense to me, and I had hope for a while that I could decipher what was happening inside me. Although I wasn’t dissatisfied with what was in my stomach, but with what I felt in my bones.
The guy’s name was Dan. He was bland, dull, drab - no substance to speak of, and this drove me insane. He may have thought attending community courses would make him more interesting (surprise, it didn’t). It was difficult for me to wrap my brain around how someone could live in this world and not have one captivating thing to say. It was easy for me to catch his attention, I think he was drawn to my perception and extroversion; maybe believing some of it would bleed onto him and bring him to life.
When we started dating, the two of us saw each other once a week; going out to dinner, movies, picnics - the usual shit. He would drone on about his childhood; only child, his parents still together, no childhood trauma - his job; a telemarketer for a paper company - and his hobbies; video games and tending to his lawn. Despite how badly I wanted to smash him over the head with a brick and get it over with so I could get my fix, I didn’t. I couldn’t. I won’t. Dead flesh doesn’t work; not that I’d be able to tell the difference with him either way.
Eventually we became close enough that I was comfortable with having a taste. The first time I took a bite, we had finally slept together and the uncontrollable urge to sink my teeth in took over. It wasn’t a huge piece, but it was enough to chew on. Although he winced and whined like a child, he thought it was an exhilarating kink of mine and he seemed to get a buzz from it. But I felt nothing with him. No ecstasy pulsing through my body; no instant flow of heightened awareness; Nothing. It was something I hadn’t experienced before. It mystified me, and only added to my curiosity. I was eager to try more.
If you’re wondering, yes I’ve tried myself to see what would happen. It’s like eating a piece of off meat; I violently gagged, got food poisoning and it felt like I actually lostsome brain cells rather than gained any sort of wisdom. And no it doesn’t hurt – that much.
It’s not like I would have whole limbs or sections of him at a time. I’d take a mouthful, and that’s all I’d need every few weeks. As I said before, I’m not barbaric. And he didn’t seem to mind that I used him for my examination of human life. It must have added a slice of excitement to his own. But no matter how much of him I’d eat, I wasn’t feeling any sort of high.
It appeared as if his flesh wasn’t as potent as others, which could be a result of his mundane existence. I became addicted to the dissatisfaction, and the quest to reach the heart of it. I needed answers but I was merely getting a sample-sized KitKat each time. As I became increasingly frustrated at the lack of insight from him, he began to offer up pieces of himself voluntarily, maybe out of fear of me doing something rash. Of course, I took full advantage of this; never before had someone willingly allowed me to devour so much of them so I could discover more about them, and in turn the world.
That is when I began to try pieces of his thighs, stomach, arse; anything that was fatty enough to get a decent chunk, and hopefully a sufficient amount of ‘vision juice’, as I call it. To get what I needed, the bites had to be deeper, more substantial. I would feel my teeth sliding through his skin down to the bone. It was like biting into an apple, blood dripping down my chin.
However, it did become a problem within our relationship. He kept asking why I constantly needed a ‘fix’, and I could never answer. I didn’t know how to tell him that I don’t feel like a complete person. I am meant to be an amalgamation of people I meet - a puzzle with my pieces scattered and the only way to find the right ones is to try to fit anything I find. I’ve spent so much time searching for pieces that I tend to neglect whatever one I have in front of me.
I’m not oblivious as to why he was getting upset with me. I had become increasingly distant and uninterested in our daily lives. We barely spoke or interacted the way we used to. We were no longer getting intimate, I didn’t even feel like touching him unless it was to munch on him. I began to become independent again; going out and not inviting him, making plans without considering him. It even got to a point where I didn’t think about him most days, I almost forgot he existed.
It's difficult to consider others in pursuit of enlightenment. I’m purely driven by a lust for connection; a lust for understanding. I find that living in my head is far more pleasant than living in reality. And the moment after that first bite – twenty years ago at poor Jasmine’s party – the world inside my head exploded into a kaleidoscope of ecstasy. To leave that is excruciating. It’s unbearable.
We became strangers in our relationship, and for the first time, I saw something when I looked into his eyes. I think it was pain, and I knew that I had caused it. I was feeling confined by having a single possibility of living life, and frustration was oozing out of me and poisoning us. Being absorbed in one person until death isn’t sustainable. Your mind and body become stagnant, and you create a loop inside of yourself that is almost impossible to escape. Most importantly, if you continue to live that way, you could end up killing each other.
After a while, he began to fade away, and all that was left by the end of our relationship was the parts of him I didn’t fancy; the parts I had no use for. I can’t tell if I was a more complete version of myself in the wake of it all, or if it was merely a grand illusion. But when he was gone, my world opened up once again to more tantalizing possibilities for insight, and I was prepared to devour them all.
I’m inquisitive and curious; I’m a consumer. But I’m not a cannibal.